


Technique

by Tenukii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Force Mind Bonding, Forgiveness, Friends to Enemies, Kylo Ren Redemption, Kylo Ren Throws A Tantrum, Love Confessions, M/M, Redeemed Ben Solo, Revised Version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenukii/pseuds/Tenukii
Summary: Even after his redemption and integration into the Resistance, Ben Solo still has a temper, and Poe Dameron still has a problem with setting it off.





	Technique

Even after he abandoned the First Order and joined the Resistance under his mother’s command, Ben Solo still had a temper.  Poe had suspected that would be the case, he had even _expected_ it—but he wasn’t prepared for just how bad it would be.  Ben got angry when he was reprimanded, particularly by General Organa; he got angry when his plans fell through; he got angry when he or anyone under his command had to retreat from a fight.

Poe could understand all of that.  He did keep trying to convince Ben that flying into a rage was not a productive way of dealing with any of those situations, but he could understand.  Poe had a reputation of being a bit hot-headed himself, after all (as Ben was not above reminding him whenever Poe got too preachy).

Yet Ben’s temper also struck at other times, when Poe least expected it.  Ben hadn’t attacked anyone physically since he came to the Resistance, but it still hurt Poe inside when he heard Ben shouting or breaking things—even when his anger wasn’t directed at Poe himself.

Worse, most of Ben’s explosions were over things which seemed relatively minor to Poe, and when Poe tried to intervene and calm him, Ben’s anger _did_ end up directed at Poe.  Poe was partially to blame for that, he knew; his “intervention” usually ended up as a shouting match between the two of them.  But Poe had no idea how else to handle Ben’s tantrums, and he loved Ben too much to stop trying to help him.

On this day, Poe and Ben were flight training on the base, using a sim program to practice dogfighting.  As everyone was well aware, Poe was the best pilot in the Resistance, yet Ben was almost as good.  _Almost._  Ben could never out-fly Poe, even using the Force.

At first Poe went easy on Ben during the training, but Ben knew he was doing it—maybe because the Force helped him pick up on what Poe was thinking, or maybe just because he knew Poe so well.  Ben growled over his headset for Poe to stop letting him win.

Strapped into his simulator pod with a VR helmet obscuring his vision, Poe couldn’t see Ben to judge his mood by his facial expressions and body language, even though they sat within a few feet of each other.  All Poe had to go by was the tone of Ben’s voice, and he tried to guess whether Ben was already mad or not, whether Poe should toughen up just a little or go all out in trying to take down his friend’s virtual X-Wing.

While Poe was pondering, an impatient Ben snapped, “You’re supposed to be such a great pilot, _Commander Dameron_ —act like it!”  Poe glowered behind his helmet’s visors, and after that, he went all out.  Once he had defeated Ben in that skirmish, and the three rematches Ben demanded, Poe pulled off his helmet and sat grinning in the other man’s direction, waiting for his chance to gloat.  But the grin dropped from his face when Ben yanked his own helmet off; his scowl told Poe that he’d made the wrong call on how hard to fight.

Ben glared at him, and that was all it took to make Poe grin again.  The petulant set of Ben’s lips, and the rumpled state of his hair thanks to the helmet, made him look like a giant, grouchy child.   _Which is pretty much what he is,_ Poe observed.

He smirked at Ben and taunted him the same way he had for years, from when they were kids wrestling out in the jungle on Yavin IV. . . to when Kylo Ren ordered his subordinates to torture Poe until he confessed all he knew: “You might want to rethink your technique.”

Poe had hoped to make Ben laugh, but the quip turned out to be his second mistake of the afternoon.  Ben stared at him, all the anger draining out of him for the moment and hurt filling his dark eyes instead.  Bewildered, Poe stared back.  Why did Ben look so upset?

Then the moment was over, and Ben just looked mad again.  He shoved himself up to his feet and out of his pod, stumbling a little when his foot caught on its edge.  Ben kept his eyes fixed on Poe the whole time, his black brows coming together and forehead wrinkling as his fury grew.  His sensitive mouth drew back in a snarl, and his fingers clenched into a fist around the edge of the helmet he still held.

“Ben—” Poe began.

“ _Shut up!_ ” Ben erupted as his face twisted into a mask of rage.  He hauled back and pitched the helmet into his pod with such violence, it shattered the control panel inside and snapped off one of the joysticks.  Poe wasn’t too sure the sensitive electronics of the helmet could have fared much better.  He drew in his breath at the horrendous crash the equipment made, then physically cringed back into his own pod when Ben shouted at him, “Why can’t you ever keep your big mouth shut?!”

Ben leaned forward, out over the space between their pods, and Poe held his own helmet up over his chest involuntarily to form a barrier between them.  Ben’s eyes widened, and he backed away from his pod so quickly, he stumbled a second time.  Then he turned and pelted away in a full run.  Poe’s entire body relaxed when Ben was gone, yet he still felt nauseous when he looked down at the wreckage of Ben’s simulator.

\--

Poe did not see Ben for the rest of the afternoon nor all evening, even though Poe looked for him in the few moments he had free.  When Ben didn’t show up for dinner in the mess hall, where General Organa insisted he eat his meals with the rest of the Resistance fighters, Poe realized his old friend was deliberately avoiding him.

At first, Poe got angry himself.

 _Well maybe I don’t want to see him either,_ he thought later as he showered.  He scrubbed his soapy hands through his wavy hair hard enough to make his scalp ache.  _If he’s so tired of me and my big mouth, then fine, we’re through.  I’ll ask the general to assign us different partners, and I won’t hang out with him when we have breaks, I won’t stay up half the night talking to him, and. . . and I won’t. . . ._

Poe sighed and let the hot water from the showerhead hit him in the face; the pressure against his closed eyelids lessened his sudden urge to cry.

_I won’t let myself hope that someday I’ll have what I always wanted with him._

Poe knew he didn’t mean any of it.  Not that he _could_ stop loving and longing for Ben, but Poe wouldn’t give up on being Ben’s friend either, not after they had finally managed to regain most of the closeness they’d shared before Ben turned to the Dark.  And of course Poe would never seriously consider asking General Organa to rethink any assignment, especially not her decision to make Poe and Ben work together.

 _We’re good for each other_ , Poe told himself after he’d dressed for bed in a light, short-sleeved shirt and shorts, and he was lying face-up on his bunk with sleep still far away.  _She knows that, and that’s why she sends us on missions together.  We work well together, at least when we’re getting along, because we care about each other.  Maybe he doesn’t care the way I do, but he still needs me.  I know he does!_

Poe exhaled a short breath in a huff and clambered up into a sitting position on his bunk, legs dangling over the side.  It was late, and Ben might get madder if Poe showed up wanting to talk just then.

 _But there won’t be time in the morning, not with the schedule we’ve got tomorrow_ , Poe decided.  _And anyway, we need to settle this now, once and for all._

Poe got out of bed and walked through the base toward Ben’s room.  Things were mostly quiet by that time of night, with little activity except for a few patrols on watch and the occasional droid roaming the halls.  Poe managed to reach Ben’s quarters without encountering anyone, for which he was glad. 

Gossip spread as quickly on the base as it did in any other close-knit community, and Poe knew some people were already suspicious of his friendship with Ben.  Almost everyone in the Resistance liked Poe, but many still refused to trust Ben entirely—or, in some cases, at all.  Poe didn’t want his late night visit to make the rumors that Ben was corrupting him fly even faster.

Poe thought Ben might refuse to answer the door at first, but, not for the first time, his friend surprised him.  As soon as Poe thumbed the “call” button on the intercom outside Ben’s room, the door slid open, and Ben appeared in the doorway.

They looked at each other a moment; then Poe asked, “Can I come in?”  Ben nodded and stepped aside so Poe could enter.  Ben’s bedroom was impeccably neat and almost devoid of personal effects.  The starkness of the room showed Poe that Ben really hadn’t acclimated to his new life in the Resistance.

“Sit down,” Ben muttered.  He gestured at the bed—the only place to sit besides a single desk chair that looked too small to hold Ben’s large frame—and Poe sat down near its foot.  The bed was set into the wall to maximize the floorspace in the small room, although to Poe, the fact that Ben had a private room at all seemed luxurious.

 _His mother may make him eat with us, but she doesn’t go so far as to make him **live** with us_ , Poe thought.  He tried to quash his mild resentment; the last thing he needed to do was get frustrated with Ben over his privileges.  Ben sat up by his pillow, where he had to lean out slightly to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling over the inset bed.  The much shorter Poe, on the other hand, had no trouble sitting upright.

“We need to talk,” Poe finally said when the silence just kept growing between them.

“I know.”  Ben didn’t look at him; he kept his face turned down toward the black bedclothes, where he ran a large, pale hand absently over the top sheet to smooth out its wrinkles.  Finally, he sighed, “I’m sorry I shouted at you, Poe.”

“Thanks, but. . . that’s not—not what we need to talk about,” Poe mumbled.  “It’s more than that.”  He watched Ben’s face intently, waiting for the other man to look at him.  When Ben eventually did glance up, Poe noticed that his eyes looked red and irritated.

“I know,” Ben said again, his deep voice hardly above a whisper this time.  “Poe. . . you’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”  That wasn’t how Poe had intended to approach the situation, but maybe stark honesty would be best.

He admitted, “Yeah.  I am.”  He felt bad for it when he saw the agonized expression that came over Ben’s face, but he decided, _We can’t have any more secrets between us.  No secrets, and no lies._

“You don’t trust me,” Ben whispered.

Poe was glad he could shake his head and protest, honestly, “It isn’t that, Ben, it’s your temper.  I do trust you.  I’m not afraid of you hurting me—I’m afraid of _me_ hurting _you_.  I’m afraid I’ll say something just to tease you, like I did today, but you’ll lose your temper and. . . and get hurt.”

Ben studied the Poe’s face before dropping his eyes and telling Poe, “It did hurt, when you said that.”

“And I wasn’t trying to hurt you!  Ben. . . .”  Poe leaned closer to the other man and covered Ben’s hand with his.  Ben started at Poe’s touch, but that reaction only made Poe hold his hand tighter as he insisted, “Ben, I _never_ want to hurt you.  I don’t want you to be scared of me, any more than you want me scared of _you_.”

Ben nodded, but he said, “When you told me that, I thought. . . I thought you were reminding me of what I did to you.  That I betrayed you, that I ordered men to torture you physically then I—I broke into your mind and hurt you even more—”  His voice broke, and Poe’s chest clenched to hear the pain and guilt in it.

“Ben, stop,” Poe mumbled.  He hesitated before slipping his free arm around Ben’s back and leaning against him in an attempt to hold the larger man.  “You weren’t yourself, Snoke and the Dark had hold of you.  I’ve forgiven you, I told you that a long time ago.”

Ben only shook his head and tried to curl away from Poe.

“I hurt you deeply, Poe.  I read your thoughts when you were trying so hard to keep me out, and I _know_ how that hurts,” Ben insisted.  The force of his insistence made Poe wonder what had been done to Ben, by whom and for how long, for him to know that pain so well.

Ben went on, “And that on top of what I caused the Stormtroopers to do to you.  On top of this.”  He finally looked at Poe again as he reached up and traced the little scar under Poe’s right eye with his thumb.  “Poe, I don’t deserve your forgiveness—I don’t deserve _anyone’s_ forgiveness, but least of all yours.”

“Ben, _stop_ it!” growled Poe.  He shifted around to clasp Ben’s head in both hands.  The face that looked back at him was etched with misery and pain.  They cut into it deeper than Ben’s own long scar, which ran from his brow down the length of his pale cheek.  Clenching his fingers over Ben’s jaws so he couldn’t pull away, Poe leaned forward and pressed his lips to the start of the scar above Ben’s right eye.

In a low rasp, he mumbled against Ben’s skin, “I did want to remind you of something, but not of _that_.  I wanted you to remember all the other times I teased you about your ‘technique’—all the times we fought and played together, everything we used to have.”

Poe’s lips brushed Ben’s skin with every word, and Ben shivered.  When he was sure Ben wouldn’t try to pull away from him, Poe let his head go and slipped his arms around the larger man’s shoulders instead.

“We can have all that again, if you can just forgive _yourself_ ,” whispered Poe.  “You don’t have to prove anything to me—that you’re better than me at something, or that you’re sorry for what you did.  I know you won’t hurt me like that ever again, but you hurt me a different way when you get so angry, because I know you’re really angriest at yourself.”

Finally, Poe felt the tension relaxing out of Ben’s shoulders, and Ben’s arms came up to enfold Poe’s waist.  He pulled Poe close against him, and when he spoke, Poe could feel Ben’s breath on his neck.

“I wanted to beat you in that dogfight today, but not to prove that I’m better than you.  I want you to be proud of me, and to feel like you can rely on me to protect you.  Poe, if something happened to you out there, and I couldn’t protect you—”  Ben’s arms clutched at him convulsively.  “I’ve got to be able to fight for you.”

“Ben. . . .”  Poe felt too overwhelmed with Ben’s surprising devotion to him to speak.  Instead, he dropped his forehead to rest against Ben’s for a moment, and they sat holding one another in silence.

Poe eventually murmured, “Ben, I know I can rely on you, but you don’t have to do all the protecting yourself.  I’ll protect you too—it’s what partners do, they work _together_.”

Poe drew back just enough to be able to look into Ben’s eyes, and he stroked his fingers through the strands of black hair that fell around Ben’s face.  Ben nodded, and his eyes searched Poe’s; then Ben pulled Poe back against him and pressed his cheek to Poe’s hair.

“Poe,” he whispered, “do you really believe we can have what we used to have?  You. . . you were my best friend, you meant everything to me.  And then I gave all that up.  I gave _you_ up.  How can you want me back after everything I’ve done?”

Poe took a deep breath that shook with nerves, but the desperation in Ben’s questions made up Poe’s mind for him.  His feelings for Ben had moved beyond friendship long ago, even before Ben had turned to the Dark, but Poe never dared to confess them.  He had always been too afraid of rejection, and too afraid of losing Ben altogether.

 _But that happened anyway,_ Poe realized, _and it’s a miracle of the Force that I got him back._

With as much gentleness as he could manage, Poe said, “Ben, I want you to do something for me.”  When Ben made a frustrated growl at what he perceived as evasion, Poe added, “It’ll answer your question, I promise.”

“All right,” Ben muttered.  “What do you want me to do?”

Poe rested his chin on the larger man’s shoulder and told him, “I want you to—I don’t know what you want to call it, but use the Force on me.  Read my mind, see my thoughts.”

“Poe!  I can’t—”

Poe had anticipated the horrified exclamation, and he cut it off neatly: “Yes, you can—I want you to.”  Ben was shaking his head, but Poe stilled the motion with his hand.  He whispered against Ben’s neck, “It’s the only way for you to believe that we can rebuild what we had.  You have to see it in me, _feel_ it in me where I can’t possibly lie to you.  Then you can trust me, and you’ll know how much I trust you.”

Ben sighed deeply before he capitulated, “All right, but only because I know what a stubborn little ass you are.  You won’t quit nagging me until I do what you want.”

“Damn straight,” Poe chuckled, with a tinge of relief in the laugh.  Ben bit his lower lip then reclined on his pillow, tugging Poe down with him.

He urged Poe, “Here, lie down with me.  I want you to relax and be comfortable.”  Poe gladly complied and lay back, still wrapped in Ben’s arms.  He felt Ben’s long fingers tangle into his wavy hair and latch on there.

“You’re sure you want this?” Ben whispered, and Poe nodded.

“Yes, Ben.  I want it.”  He closed his eyes and tried to think only of how much he loved Ben, loved and trusted and forgave him.

After his traumatic previous experience, Poe was prepared for Ben’s entry into his mind to hurt, at least a little.  Yet this time, he hardly felt anything at all—maybe a slight tingle behind his eyes, but that feeling was almost pleasant.

Poe was most aware of the intangible impression of being _with_ Ben, not much different than the happiness Poe felt any time they were together, as long as they weren’t fighting.  Even if Poe hadn’t been able to touch Ben physically in that moment, he would have felt his friend’s presence and been comforted by it.  Then—

 _Poe_.

He didn’t _hear_ his name, because Ben didn’t speak it aloud.  In fact, Ben didn’t exactly say Poe’s _name_ at all—he spoke Poe’s very identity, the concept of a being called Poe Dameron whom Ben loved. . . loved very much, in fact.  Poe knew that without any doubt just as soon as Ben communicated with him, and he knew that Ben now understood—and more importantly, believed—that Poe loved him the same way.

 _I love you,_ Poe thought anyway, and in response, he felt Ben loving him.  By virtue of what Ben was, he didn’t need words to say, “I love you too.”  He just _did_ it, and Poe could feel it.  It was both emotional and sensual: Poe felt a purer happiness than he had ever before experienced, and at the same time such great physical desire, he gasped with surprise and some embarrassment.

Ben withdrew from his mind then, although he held Poe even tighter with his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Poe’s ear, sounding embarrassed himself.  “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, but it’s hard to control, and you—you startled me.  The way you. . . .”  His deep voice dropped to the scantest whisper.  “You _love_ me, Poe.  You love me. . . .”

“Don’t be sorry,” Poe murmured back.  “I loved it.  I loved feeling you love me.”

“Poe. . . .”  Suddenly, Ben’s fingers grasped Poe’s hair and tugged, tilting Poe’s head back so that Ben could capture his mouth.  He kissed Poe hard and deeply, then whispered against his mouth, “It will be as you said.  We’ll fight together and protect each other, because you do trust me—I know that now.  And I will never betray that trust again.”

“I—I know you won’t,” Poe assured Ben as best he could, despite being a little stunned by the sudden kiss.  “So now do you believe me, that we can have what we used to have together?”

“No,” declared Ben, but Poe knew from his tone of voice that he was smiling, even before he lifted his head so Poe could see the curve of his full lips.  “We used to be best friends, Poe—but still _just_ friends.  I don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

“Yeah?”  Poe licked his lips, which suddenly felt dry, and asked, “What do you want us to be, then?  What am I to you?”

Ben whispered, “You’re still my best friend and my mission partner, but Poe. . . I want you to be my partner in more than that.”  With a low, tender laugh, he murmured, “What are you to me?  Poe, you’re everything.”

He pulled Poe close to him again for another kiss.  Poe slipped his fingers into Ben’s long hair and held his head down as he kissed the larger man as hard and deep as Ben had kissed him; then Ben gripped Poe’s upper back with both hands.  Poe shivered under the touch of those large, strong hands massaging his back while they kissed.

When Poe had to lift his head to catch his breath, he panted, “I love you, Ben.”

Ben looked up at him and spoke the words for the first time: “I love you too, Poe.  Always.”  He slid both hands down Poe’s back, rubbing and massaging the pilot’s tensed muscles as he went, until they came to rest on Poe’s hips.  Poe shuddered.

“You want me to rethink my technique?” Ben asked, dark eyes wide and serious.

Poe gave an inarticulate whine in response.  Ben laughed, a low laugh full of indulgent, suggestive promise.

“This time, I’m going to conquer you, Poe Dameron,” he whispered.  “I’m going to bring you down and make you come apart. . . and I know just the _technique_ to do it.”

\--

The End


End file.
